वस्त्रम् उत्कर्षति मयि प्राहसत् स वृकोदरः ॥
शत्रोर् ऋद्धिविशेषेण विमूढं रत्नवर्जितम् ॥
तत्र स्म यदि शक्तः स्यां पातयेयं वृकोदरम् ॥
सपत्नेनावहासो हि स मां दहति भारत ॥
पुनश् च तादृशीम् एव वापीं जलजशालिनीम् ॥
मत्वा शिलासमां तोये पतितो ऽस्मि नराधिप ॥
vastram utkarṣati mayi prāhasat sa vṛkodaraḥ ||
śatror ṛddhiviśeṣeṇa vimūḍhaṃ ratnavarjitam ||
tatra sma yadi śaktaḥ syāṃ pātayeyaṃ vṛkodaram ||
sapatnenāvahāso hi sa māṃ dahati bhārata ||
punaś ca tādṛśīm eva vāpīṃ jalajaśālinīm ||
matvā śilāsamāṃ toye patito 'smi narādhipa ||
"While I was gathering up my garment, that Vrikodara burst out laughing at me, bewildered by the enemy's peculiar abundance and stripped of jewels. Had I the power there, I would have struck down Vrikodara; for a rival's mockery burns me, O Bharata. And again, taking just such a lotus-adorned pond for solid ground like stone, I fell into the water, O lord of men."
203901b42dac · publicado 16 jul 2026, 15:49:22 UTC
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Duryodhana relives that laughter once more — almost word for word, as he had already told it. This obsessive return to the wound is significant: an envious mind will not let go of an injury but turns it over endlessly, burning anew each time. The verse teaches that harboring resentment is a voluntary torment: one who suffered once afterward suffers a hundredfold, scourging himself with his own memory. And the longing to 'strike down Vrikodara' ripens precisely out of this rumination — from a small mockery, resurrected again and again, grows a resolve toward great evil. Whoever cannot forgive and forget nurtures in himself the seed of vengeance; a wound that is picked at does not heal but festers.